


Atavism of the Manakete

by xanemarths



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragons, Gen, Nonbinary Character, Other, Temporary Character Death, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:57:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanemarths/pseuds/xanemarths
Summary: By all the known laws of Jugdral, Setyshouldhave died when he took a blade to the back. But the dragon gods gave more to the crusaders than just blood and weapons, and when that power is awakened in him, there's only one person in Jugdral who knows exactly what's happening, and what to do.It's time for a father to bond with his son.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is all so self indulgent, I hope you like my Dragon Sety and Nonbinary Celice Content,
> 
> This is all the fault of yyh's Atavism of the Mazoku. I blame that for this fic in its entirety.

If asked how they had gotten into this situation, Celice wouldn’t be able to tell. The stresses of keeping an optimistic face while leading an army weighed heavily on their shoulders, and they’d thought it a good time to take a walk, clear their head. Of course, no sooner had they wandered a short distance from camp than Sety came chasing after them, and insisted that, if they must wander, they must at the very least not wander alone.

They enjoyed the company, of course! Sety was easy to be with, in moods like this; he always accepted their falters in cheer and optimism with understanding. They didn’t have to talk, to feel it. All they had to do was be together.

Together, they wander too far, out of sight and earshot of camp, and that is when the attack comes. Celice can’t tell if they’re bandits, or members of the Lopt Sect, or perhaps some other army or force of fighters under the empire’s thumb. All they know is that they’re armed, and that they’re both unprepared for an ambush.

Or, well, perhaps it’s just them who’s unprepared. The wind howls around them as they cross swords with one of the attackers, and Celice knows that Sety is safe, at least. They’ve seen him in battle plenty of times before; he had an uncanny ability to dodge blows, and there were few people, if any, resistant enough to magic that they could withstand the full might of his Holsety tome. Even Elwind was powerful enough to decimate an opposing force if left in Sety’s capable hands!

They’re too preoccupied with the man they’re fighting to notice right away when another one of the attackers appears behind Sety; it’s a sheer stroke of luck that they do see, and they call out to warn him with a “Sety! Behind you!”

The world slows, and Sety does not turn fast enough to avoid being stabbed in the back.

There is a sudden noise, a voice screaming Sety’s name - their own, Celice realizes, as Sety freezes, rather than lashing out to attack, and slowly slumps to the ground. Their eyes burn, and they make quick work finishing off their own attacker before they rush at the one who'd stabbed Sety. Adrenaline courses through their veins, and as they reach Sety’s side they leap, channeling all their strength and energy and momentum into a single blow.

It’s more than enough to take down the attacker. Ordinarily, Celice might have found themself temporarily stunned over the ferocity of their own attack, but there are more important things for them to focus on, like collapsing to their knees beside Sety, and frantically trying to patch the wound, stem the bleeding. As they frantically tear at their own clothing to try and form a temporary bandage, they berate themself for never ever learning how to use a healing stave; Sety could, but trying to heal oneself is useless, especially when bleeding out and barely conscious enough to use magic! Even _Leaf_ was smart enough to learn; what sort of leader _couldn’t_ heal their people?

Hypotheticals and what-ifs won’t save Sety, though. Perhaps in another life, they’ll learn; for now, it’s all they can do to bind the wound and get him to a proper healer.

He shifts in Celice’s arms as they try to pick him up, eyes barely opening. There’s still an air of almost blank panic on his face, and Celice finds themself wondering if this _wasn’t_ the first time he’d been backstabbed like this. Still, if he’d managed to live through it before, surely he’d survive now, right? Sety wasn’t the sort to just keel over and die from one little wound-

A hand comes up to their cheek, and even though their brain is screaming at them to run back to camp, to get Sety to a healer, Celice freezes. “Celice… please… please, tell - don’t…”

Whatever he is trying to tell them is lost as light and life fade from his eyes. Slowly, the hand falls from their cheek, and Celice sinks back down, laying Sety back on the grass but refusing to let go of him. They inhale, sharply; inhale, exhale, too sharp and forced and _aching_ to be good. The burning of their eyes suddenly makes sense, as it dawns on them how damp they are, and as they continue to sit there, it’s like a floodgate opens, and suddenly they’re sobbing and they don’t know how to stop.

What can they _do?_ What are they going to tell _Levin?_ For all their tactician denied it, Celice knew that his family was still important to him, _especially_ Sety - hearing that his son had died would _devastate_ him, especially since he died in Celice’s (supposedly) safe company!

And that doesn’t even begin to cover that strange ache in their own heart, deeper than the loss of most other past comrades. They’d been closer to Sety, though; Sety gave them the kind of support that few others could, the support of someone who’d also borne the burden of leadership, who knew what sort of weight rested on Celice’s shoulders.

And he’d died because he was trying to give Celice that support. A wave of self-loathing hits Celice, strong and hard; maybe if they hadn’t been _selfish_ enough to leave camp like that, maybe if they’d just stayed there, sought him out instead of wandering and making him come after them, he wouldn’t be _dead_. They inhale with a sharp hiss, and the sobbing and tears hit them even harder, so they hold Sety’s limp body closer, head lying on his now-quiet chest-

_Tha-thump._

The tears stop in their tracks, and Celice has to double, triple-check that they’re not simply _hearing things_ now. Sety had died, hadn’t he? Celice knew that his heart had stopped, that he’d stopped breathing - yet, as they watch, and listen, there is another quiet heartbeat, and a slow, barely noticeable rise and fall of the chest to go with it-

And then, Sety is bolt upright and coughing up a strange, black substance. Celice knew of the Lopt Sect’s dark magic, and the effects of its poison - sickness, weakness, its victims coughing up black blood - and, though the men they were fighting weren’t dark magic users, they can’t help but panic. Sety had spent years on his own fighting the Sect; could this be some sort of lingering aftereffect of taking in too much dark magic?

Whatever the black substance is, Sety seems to have caught most of it in his hands, but there’s some that leaked out, or spilled onto the grass, and Celice reaches to touch it with a morbid curiosity - if it’s black blood, then maybe someone can treat him for dark magic poisoning-

_A quiet room, a gigantic tome, his father smiling at him-_

And Celice reels back, feeling like they’ve somehow intruded on something they shouldn’t have. The black substance is _definitely_ not blood. On closer observation, they realize that it’s far gooier than blood, more like some kind of sludge; thinking it was blood feels almost silly. As Sety’s coughing eases, and he starts responding to the world around him once more, Celice buries the guilt they feel, and instead burst into the most important thing on their mind.

“Sety! Are you alright?” they ask, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he readjusts, and for a moment Sety only stares blankly at the black goo in his hands. Slowly, he turns towards Celice, confusion shining in his eyes.

“I- I think- what happened, Celice?” he demands, and Celice isn’t quite sure how to explain.

“I - you were stabbed in the back - I couldn’t get to you in time to save you,” they say. “You died in my arms, except, well. I guess you’re not really dead? Also, you kinda coughed up a lot of that black goo...”

“I - _what?_ ”

Sety’s eyes widen, and he cranes his neck to try and see his back, so Celice decides to make things easier and check for him, pulling aside their temporary bandage. What they see is quite a surprise.

While there’s still blood where he was stabbed, the wound itself is quickly closing, stitching itself up and mending before Celice’s very eyes. They’re used to such sights, from seeing the healers do their work, but never before have they seen a wound close so quickly on its own.

Sety doesn’t ask him what the matter is, and so Celice doesn’t give an answer. Instead, they straighten up, and offer him a hand. “...Let’s get back to camp. We can figure out what’s going on there.”

Sety doesn’t protest, nor does he take the offered hand. It dawns on Celice that he’s still cupping the goo in his hands, and that, perhaps, whatever it was they’d seen when they touched it, Sety could see, too. They wonder what it is, and how important it really is, but now was not the time for questions, and as soon as Sety is on his feet, they both head back towards the camp, quickly as they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oddly timed crits, weird memory goo, resurrection? we're certainly going somewhere, folks, so join me in Yet Another Multichapter Work!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, initially this chapter was meant to be much longer, and actually get into some Exposition and such, but it'd been forever since the last update, and this part was pretty much done and ready for upload. So... here it is!

Quite frankly, Celice thinks it’s a miracle when they manage to sneak back into camp without being seen. Shanan and Oifey would surely have noticed the tattered, torn, and bloodstained clothing; the two of them would have had to deal with a pair of worried, upset men, and probably been lectured on safety and carelessness. Thankfully, they don’t; they both manage to get to their own tents, so they could change into proper clothes, wash off the blood and goo - and then, when they’re finished, they meet again, in the quietest place they can find.

The black goo is gone from Sety’s hands. In its place is a stone, iridescent and shimmering greenish in the light. Its surface is not truly opaque, either; Celice swears they can see something swirling inside. Their curiosity is probably evident on their face, because Sety explains: “It's the solidified form of the goo I was coughing up earlier. No, I'm not sure why or how it turned into… _this_.”

Celice marvels at it a moment more; when they reach out to touch it, Sety bristles, lips drawing back enough to reveal the points of his teeth, staring at their hand like it's a weapon. They pull away quickly, remembering that flash of Sety’s memory they'd seen upon touching the goo. Perhaps the stone worked in a similar way, and that made Sety feel especially defensive?

Whatever the case, touching the stone for further examination was out of the question, so they moved onto a different, more pressing topic. “So. Are you sure you're all right? I know I saw the wound stitch itself up right before my very eyes, but, have you noticed anything… else, that's different? Are you hurting anywhere, or…”

Sety shook his head, and Celice briefly marvelled at how his dark freckles seemed to catch the light, and glimmer green. “Not that I can tell, no. Everything seems a little louder, maybe, but... I sort of, _doubt_ that's a side-effect of being stabbed.”

As he says this, he reaches up to comb his fingers through his hair, just above his ear, and Celice watches as something seems to _flick_ beneath those feathery green strands.

“Did - did your ear just twitch?”

Sety pauses, as though taken aback by the question - Celice catches him before he has the chance to pull away, pushing his hair back and above his ear. Sety stiffens when they gasp; while Celice had always _sworn_ that Sety’s ears looked pointier than any other ears they'd ever seen, they'd never been _that_ pointed! Moreover, his ears flatten back at the gasp, almost cat-like with how they swivel. That _definitely_ wasn't normal.

“They did!” Celice exclaims, moving to touch one; Sety swats at their hand on pure reflex, but they're far too worked up about other things to care. “Sety - Sety, your ears, they're really pointy, and they're _moving_! I mean, I know some people can wiggle their ears, but…”

Sety frowns, brows furrowing in disbelief as he moves a hand to cup his ear - only for them to raise in shock as he feels them flutter for himself. “Huh,” he says, ever so eloquently. “That's not normal.”

“No kidding,” Celice says, an air of wonder in their voice; their gaze is wide and transfixed on this one particular abnormality, but it's not long before the floodgates open, and other things they'd half-noticed are suddenly far more apparent. “And - and, that's not the only thing, either, Sety, look-”

Sety stares at them, frowning, and the tiniest tips of his upper canines poke out over his lips. “Your - your teeth are pointy, too, and your freckles are getting bigger and turning green, I think, and I'm not sure if your right eye was always that red, but…”

They force themself to stop, and draw in a deep breath, as though to prepare themself for what they're about to say.

“I think we should probably tell Levin about this,” Celice suggests, feeling as grim as they probably look; Sety hesitates, and Celice almost wonders if he's about to say that he _doesn’t_ want to tell his dad - but he doesn't have the time to do that, before...

“Tell me what?” asks a voice from somewhere above their heads; the two of them jump, and they're both on their feet and staring face to face with Sety’s father in record time.

“Ah - well - you see - we,” Celice begins, but Levin barely pays attention to their stumbling words before he catches sight of the stone in Sety’s hands, and his eyes go very, _very_ wide.

“Where… did you get that,” he says, with a tinge of hoarseness in his voice at the question that sounds more like a demand; he reaches for the stone, and Celice doesn't have the time to warn him before Sety jerks it back with a hiss. He looks immediately mortified at the noise, his shoulders hunching and ears flattening back, but rather than hand the stone over to his father, his grip only tightens upon it. Levin withdraws his hand with a frown, before he sighs and, ever so gently, puts his hands on his son's shoulder, bending just enough to look him in the eyes as he speaks again.

“Sety. I swear to you, I _will not_ harm this stone. I only wish to take a closer look at it, so it's easier for me to examine.”

There is a long, silent pause, and Celice almost has to wonder if Sety _doesn't_ plan to let his father take the stone - but, eventually, he hands it over, albeit with great reluctance. Still, Levin seems satisfied, and he turns the rock over in his hands, staring at it and murmuring thoughtfully about something Celice can't quite make out. He raises it to the last rays of sunlight, humming and nodding sagely at whatever it is he sees, before very carefully restoring the stone to his anxiously waiting son. His eyes scan Sety’s face, for what Celice can't tell, but he seems to find whatever it is he's looking for, and he draws back with the grim air of someone who’d just discovered something they wished they hadn't.

“Well, then. I… I suppose I have… a lot of explaining to do. Come along,” he says, tilting his head in the direction of his tent; Celice is just about to slip away and leave them to it when Levin catches their eye. “...You, too, Celice. You've already seen this much. I believe you have the right to know, too.”

They exchange a sidelong glance with Sety, and they can only imagine the look of confusion on Sety’s face matches their own. What could Levin possibly have to explain to them?

Still, one didn't question the tactician. When he starts in the direction of his tent, the two of them follow, both feeling anxious over the possibilities of what was to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pointy ears, scales, and fangs, oh my! What's up with that stone? Oh, hell, it's probably obvious - but how exactly did we get here? Prepare for Exposition And Explanations Next Time, whenever that is?


End file.
